Fury of the Demon (Kara Gillian) (39 page)

He took a ragged breath and stopped pulling at my hand. “Kara! I’m . . . okay,” he gasped even though clearly he wasn’t. Wild confusion filled his eyes, and he shook from the arcane and physical damage from the blast.

“Sure you are, big guy,” I said, gritted my teeth, and ran-dragged him back toward Mzatal. Yet my thoughts kept circling back to Pyrenth. I’d killed a sentient creature. All these years of being a cop, and this was my first true kill.

But I had no choice,
I realized with sick certainty. Training with the blade wouldn’t have changed my choice in that instant. No way could I have reached my gun quickly enough, and the chances of stopping him with a .32 were slim.
If I hadn’t used Vsuhl on Pyrenth, Idris and I would be prisoners of the Mraztur again.
Yet knowing it was justified didn’t ease the guilt one bit.

The node whined. “Three lords, Kara! Another just came through!” Paul’s voice, shot through with static and agitation.

“Three!”
Shit.
“Black hair or blond?” I snapped, too focused on keeping Idris upright and moving to look for myself.

“Black.”

“That’s Amkir,” I replied through gritted teeth as Idris began to balk again. “The King of the Assholes.”

“Gotcha, Kara. Bryce is near the Ops building and moving your way to help you.”

Idris abruptly gave a low cry and yanked back hard against my grasp. Cursing, I swept his leg and dumped him to the ground, then dropped down with a knee on his chest. He gave a whoosh of expelled air as I’d intended, and as he gasped for new breath I seized his arm and rolled him face down then held him in an arm-lock as I looked for Bryce.

To my relief, he was almost to me. He quickly closed the distance, scanning for threats as he pulled zip-ties from his belt and efficiently bound Idris’s wrists and ankles. A potency-burn marked the left side of Bryce’s face—an angry stripe of raw flesh from his temple to his jaw line. Othersight revealed a vicious little coil of potency clinging like napalm to his cheek.

“Hold still,” I ordered, then unwound and dispelled the thing.

“Thanks. Caught the edge of a blast,” he said. “Was wondering why it still burned. I’ll get Idris behind our lines,” he continued, clipped and efficient. “Mzatal needs you now. His attention is divided with you out here.”

I knew it to be true. Leaving Idris to Bryce’s care, I sprinted to a spot about ten feet behind and to the left of Mzatal. His braid swung in a rhythmic pattern as he engaged all three enemy lords, essence blade in hand—shielding, striking, and deflecting in a beautiful and deadly dance. Paul knelt on the ground to his right, fingers dancing over the tablet, eyes unfocused. I didn’t see Ryan or Zack anywhere, and could only hope they were okay.

A strike from Rhyzkahl rocked Mzatal’s shielding, and its residue peppered me like wind-blown sand. Turning to face the enemy, I sought to tap into Mzatal’s pattern. Yet the link that had been as easy as taking his hand evaded me now, with his movement and weaving of flows seeming more like a random jumble of sigils and potency.

I shook my head sharply. Pyrenth’s death had me badly rattled.
I’ll angst later,
I railed at myself, then pygahed, inhaled deeply, and once more tried to focus. What was I trying to focus on? I looked around, confused.

“Kara!”

I jerked as Paul shouted from nearby, his voice also cutting through the static in the earpiece.

Shit. The virus. “Kara,” I confirmed through gritted teeth. Now I sank into the link, echoing and amplifying Mzatal’s dance with my own. I felt a deep touch from him—reassurance and stability. I returned it with one of my own and used his support and confidence to solidify my center.

The Earth flows seemed to bend toward us, enabling Mzatal to merely extend slightly in order to tap them. Curious, I tried to see why, then nearly fell over in shock as I found the answer: Paul. Somehow, he was nudging and adjusting the flows to give us that slight advantage. Hell, more than
slight
. I doubted Jesral and Amkir had any experience tapping the relatively weak Earth flows, so for Paul to divert what little was available to them would be like replacing their bullets with paint balls.

A smile curved my mouth as I wove my touches into our offense. No wonder Mzatal liked Paul so much.

Bryce loped behind our lines with the zip-tied Idris over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, then carefully deposited him on the ground. I continued to enhance Mzatal’s patterns, yet even with my support and Paul’s, I felt him weakening.

Mzatal deflected a hard strike, though the edges of it licked within his protections. He shifted, stepped back, and in that instant of movement Rhyzkahl lunged forward and sent a hammering blow into Mzatal’s shields. The shock of it slammed through us both. Mzatal stumbled back another step before recovering, breathing hard while Rhyzkahl smiled in triumph.

“Fuck this,” I muttered, then yanked my gun out of the thigh holster and fired three shots at Rhyzkahl. I knew he was shielded, but maybe it would distract him a little. Plus, it felt good to shoot at him.

As expected, the bullets stopped an arms length from him, then dropped to the grass in molten puddles of lead. His gaze snapped to me, and if anything his expression grew
more
triumphant. “Rowan.”

I stiffened as the name struck me like a fist, drove through my mind. I felt as though the earth tipped, lost my footing.
Rowan?

“Kara!” Paul shouted in my ear as Mzatal spoke the name to my essence.

I sucked in a breath.
Kara.
Lifting my chin, I shook off the horrible feeling.
I’m Kara, and he’s a parasite.
I shoved the gun into its holster and continued to work Mzatal’s pattern.

He took another hard strike from Amkir, but riposted with a barrage of arcane spears, so quickly that I knew he’d allowed the strike. I understood Mzatal’s purpose, that he preyed upon the inexperience the others had with the Earth flows. Amkir let out a choked cry and stumbled back to fall sprawled on the grass. Immediately, Mzatal blanketed him in potency, pinning him to the ground and effectively taking him out of the fight, at least for the moment.

Without a pause in his flow, Mzatal deflected two strikes from Rhyzkahl, then blasted Jesral off balance and cast a constricting net of potency around him.

Another small concussion rippled across the lawn, joined by a rumble of thunder. I jerked my attention to the node.

“Ah shit,” I breathed.

The last of the Mraztur to make an appearance, Kadir swayed heavily as he stepped through the node, his expression an odd mix of anger and panic before he smoothed it. Though not completely smoothed away, I noted, even as I fought down my own panic at the idea of four lords against one. Anger still tightened his mouth and the skin around his beautiful eyes. I’d never seen Lord Creepshow display any sort of strong emotion.
He must be
seriously
pissed,
I thought
.
But at who? Or what? Not that it made a fucking bit of difference at this point. We were totally screwed.

Rhyzkahl’s expression grew even
more
triumphant with Kadir’s arrival, though I hadn’t thought it possible. Baring teeth, he flung another hard strike at Mzatal and followed it with two lesser bursts in quick succession. Mzatal deflected all, but I felt him reach deep into his reserves, and knew he didn’t have much more in him. Right now he had Amkir pinned and Jesral struggling with the net, but it took effort to hold them, and he had nothing left for any sort of offense against Rhyzkahl. Hell, he barely had enough to maintain his defenses.

Kadir swept his cold gaze around, then crouched beside the node, began working over it.
He’s trying to stabilize it,
I realized in shock. It was difficult to tell from this distance, but his work looked like an amalgam of what Mzatal did at the Nature Center valve and what Zack did at my pond.

A louder roll of thunder swept over us, and I suddenly understood the subtle undercurrent I’d felt. Mzatal knew he had no way to contain all of the Mraztur. His only hope—our only hope—was to incapacitate them. He’d been calling the storm to us. But would even lightning be enough?

Movement near the lake drew my eye, and I saw Asher doing a low-crawl toward a cluster of bushes. But then my gaze went to a figure standing a few feet beyond the remains of the gazebo: Zack.

His expression might have been carved in stone, and I felt the tension in him even at this distance. He wanted to end his bond with Rhyzkahl. I knew that. Logic—at least, my human logic—weighed heavily in favor of his doing so. Yet logic didn’t factor in the terrible price he’d pay.

What would I do in his place? I tried to imagine a life of complete isolation from my kind—never enjoying another silly meal with friends at Lake o’ Butter, never being able to even talk to another human. I’d felt the ache of it during the months with Mzatal, with only demons and lords for company. Yet even that had been tempered for a while by Idris’s presence, and after that the notes and letters exchanged with my aunt, Jill, Zack, and Ryan had been a solid reminder that, even though I wasn’t with them, I was always welcome back.

I watched Zack, waiting to see what he would do. In front of him, Kadir stepped off the gazebo platform and strode toward Asher.

Mzatal’s touch stroked the edge of my awareness, and I shifted more focus to him though I kept my eyes on Zack.
I have no more,
his meaning came through.
I will call lightning.

“Call, but don’t strike yet,” I murmured as Zack took a step forward, and then another. Rhyzkahl shot a quick glance over his shoulder, and victory shone in his eyes as he faced us again. I felt Mzatal’s cautious acknowledgment of my request as he continued to call the storm to him. My focus remained locked on Zack as he moved toward us. I walked forward, then paused at our implied line of scrimmage, and looked over at Mzatal. I’d be beyond his protections if I continued, and I felt the worry in him, sensed his distraction through the shudder in our defenses.

“Boss,” I murmured. “Trust me.”

He gave me a single nod. “
Eturnahl
,” he replied softly in demon and sent a confirmation of it through our bond.
Eternally.
I smiled, returned the touch with a loving one of my own, then turned to watch Zack again.

Zack continued forward and up to Rhyzkahl’s right, laid a hand on his shoulder. Rhyzkahl smiled and lowered his hands, confident. With his demahnk ptarl at his side, he knew he held victory and apparently wished to savor the moment.

“Parasite,” I muttered under my breath, but otherwise remained utterly still, watching Zack.
I trust you
, I thought to him. I had no idea if he could read my thoughts from a distance, but I sent the assurance out to him anyway.
I know you won’t betray us. I’m here for you, no matter what your decision or the outcome.
Then I murmured, “Tah agahl lahn, eturnahl, Zakaar.” Agahl—the love of friends.

He inclined his head very slightly to me in acknowledgment, whether to my words or my thoughts, I didn’t know, nor did it matter right now. Either way, he knew where I stood.

Zack continued past Rhyzkahl into the space between the combatants and turned a slow circle. Amkir lay pinned on the ground, utter hate in his glare. Jesral stood immobile on the other flank, eyes narrowed impatiently as if wishing Zakaar would get on with whatever he was doing so that the Mraztur could go ahead and claim victory. Kadir siezed Asher by the hair then stood and watched the tableau.

Mzatal spread his hands to his sides to show his lack of aggression in the moment, though he made no move to release either of the restrained lords. Rhyzkahl observed all with an air of utter confidence. I watched the dynamics with wary amazement. Clearly a demahnk held a shitload of clout to be able to bring everything to a halt like this, and as the lords couldn’t read a demahnk, none knew his purpose. Though, for that matter, neither did I, not for certain.

Zack . . .
Zakaar
came to a stop barely on our side of the halfway point between Mzatal and Rhyzkahl, then turned and faced the latter. As Zakaar’s eyes passed over me, his gaze lingered for the barest fraction of a heartbeat—long enough for me to
feel
his need and desire for support.

In the lull of the cease fire, I moved forward. Zakaar’s gaze went from Rhyzkahl to the node and then back to him. “What have you done?” he asked Rhyzkahl, voice as mild as if inquiring whether the milk had expired. He spoke in demon, but the whisper of grove touch through the node was enough to let me comprehend meaning, and I had a feeling Zakaar was boosting my ability to understand as well.

Guilt flickered for a bare instant in Rhyzkahl’s eyes. Although Zakaar and the other demahnk had created the valves and nodes, Rhyzkahl obviously hadn’t expected a need to defend his actions. “We have joined the worlds,” he answered, also in demon, recovering his aplomb. “Now we take what is ours.” His gaze lingered on me before returning to Zakaar. “Come, ptarl. Let us finish this.”

I moved up to stand beside Zakaar. He set a gentle hand on my shoulder, then pulled the neckline of my dress aside and set the sigils on my body aglow with the red wash of the
rakkuhr
. I drew a shuddering breath and lifted my chin.

“What have you done?”
Zakaar repeated, and this time there was no mistaking the vehemence and disappointment and anguish in the words.

Rhyzkahl narrowed his eyes. “I have forged a tool for the good of us all,” he stated. “What does it matter what means I use?”

“I made no secret of my view on the use of
rakkuhr
for any reason,” Zakaar said, voice carrying far. “For this reason,” he nudged his head toward me, “using this means, I am
vehemently
opposed.” He released the neckline of my dress and quenched the glow of the sigils, then laid his arm across my shoulders. “I have counseled you before not to take this path. Now I simply say,” he lifted his head and fixed his gaze upon Rhyzkahl, “
turn from this path
.”

A muscle flexed in Rhyzkahl’s jaw. “Your counsel is unreasonable and needlessly conservative,” he retorted. “This
means
,” he flicked a hand toward me in an impatient gesture, “is viable and brings Earth into our grasp with minimal conflict.”